I was late because I overslept.
I was late because I was dissolving in tears.
I was late to protest the tyranny of time.
I was late because I was sucked into a Black Hole. Fortunately it didn’t like the taste of my deodorant, so it spit me back out.
I was late because I was smelling every flower and petting every dog
I was late because I fell asleep on the couch by the fire, covered in a mauve wool blanket, one dog snuggled against me and two more on the rug beside me, and when the alarm went off—I’d set it because I had to meet you—I thought I hit snooze, but I accidentally hit stop. That’s why I’m still asleep, and what you see here is not me but a holographic projection. The real me is still asleep on the couch by the fire and will sleep there for a hundred years, until awakened by True Love’s Kiss.
I was late because I was deciding whether to jump from a bridge into the choppy silver waves and let the fish feast on my flesh.
I was late because I was frolicking in the autumn leaves.
I was late because I’m genetically coded for lateness.
I was late because of the rain.
Because of the traffic.
Because of the traffic caused by the rain.
Because a woman with a walker was crossing the street in slow motion, and I had to wait for her to pass.
Because I was standing at the tippy-top of the world, wondering what would happen if there were no gravity and I were lifted off into space to float around the universe. Would I find another planet with life on it? Would they accept me? Love me? Would I finally feel at home?
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